


First Comes Love, Then Comes Marriage (Even if it Takes a Long Time)

by Pegasus_Eridana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Deaf Clint Barton, Fluff, Happy Ending, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Learning curve, M/M, The Wisdom of Peggy Carter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 22:51:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5108531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pegasus_Eridana/pseuds/Pegasus_Eridana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil knew one thing for sure. </p><p>He was never going to stop being in love with Clint Barton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twangcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twangcat/gifts).
  * Inspired by [K-I-S-S-I-N-G](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5017117) by [twangcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twangcat/pseuds/twangcat). 



> So I read K.I.S.S.I.N.G by twangcat, and it was GLORIOUS except she's too good at angst and I needed to meddle and give the babies a happy ending. Twangcat very graciously allowed me to do so, and I hope this is OK!
> 
> Warning: there is one use of a homophobic slur in this fic, and the person who says it receives swift retribution. But be careful if that sort of thing is a trigger for you. 
> 
> Thanks to my wondrous editor Ismene_Jane, who made this fic much better. 
> 
> Enjoy!

At ten years old, Phil Coulson was practically a grownup. Granted, his voice hadn’t _quite_ started breaking yet, and he still slept with Bucky Bear by his side, but he knew that he was basically a grownup now.

Because he had _grownup feelings._

That’s what his Mom had called them, when she sat him down and lectured him about all sorts of scary things like _STDs_ and _consent_ and _when the right girl comes along you’ll know_. That was how Phil knew.

Because he’d already met the right girl, and his name was Clint.

And he was, of course, a boy.

But the _feelings_ were the same, Phil was pretty sure.

He could still remember that awful day, five years ago, when he and Clint and married each other and then been cruelly separated by their parents. Even though he knew it was wrong, Phil had never been able to get rid of that wish that he really could have married Clint that day, so that they could live happily ever after together.

He remembered that he hadn’t been able to, _still_ wasn’t able to protect Clint, when Clint came in with bruises on his arms and legs, or when he shivered his way through the winter because he didn’t have a coat, or when he flinched whenever a teacher shouted too loud or got a bit too close too quickly.

So maybe Phil’s body wasn’t _quite_ as grownup as his heart yet, but as soon as it was, he was going to be as big and strong as his Dad, or even as Captain America, and he was going to protect Clint from everyone who tried to hurt him.

Because Phil knew one thing for sure.

He was never going to stop being in love with Clint Barton.

***

**Six Years Later**

Clint huffed as he sat down on the bench, wedging himself between Phil and Natasha. Phil smiled at him in greeting, and slid over his spare sandwich, just like he had done almost every school day of the past ten years. Of course, technically, Clint didn’t really need that anymore. After all those years of looking too thin, of pulling down his sleeves to cover the bruises on his wrists and forearms, of being altogether too pale and too jumpy and too quiet about his home life, Clint had come into school with a huge bruise on his forehead and, it turned out, severely reduced hearing. One of their teachers had finally been concerned enough to notify child services, and nine-year-old Clint was taken away from his father, his mother having died the year before.

The months that had followed had been the worst in ten-year-old Phil’s life. He hadn’t known where Clint was, if he was alright, what was happening, if he would ever see his best friend again. Even though, as his Mom had made sure he knew, what he felt for Clint wasn’t, _couldn’t be_ , anything romantic, Phil could still have sworn that in those few months, his heart had broken.

Luckily, after a summer spent being temporarily fostered by a couple in a _circus_ , of all things, Clint had come back home, having been placed in the care of one Peggy Carter, a formidable woman who already had a daughter, Natasha, who was a year older than Clint. Peggy’s ruthless mothering of Clint quickly won his adoration. She had briskly and efficiently proved herself to be a far better parent than Clint had ever before experienced. She’d shut down all those who suggested that an unmarried English lady could do better for herself than adopt trailer trash like Clint, and done it all without breaking a sweat, it seemed.

Suddenly Clint had been walked into school by his new mother and sister every day, proudly carrying his own lunches (neatly packed into a pristine Bucky Barnes lunch box), wearing clothes that were brand-new and that fitted him properly. Clint had even confided to Phil, in a hushed undertone that spoke of wonder and bewilderment at his luck, that Ms. Carter had given him _his very own books_ to read, as well as toys and pillows and his own bed and hearing aids that worked properly. At that, Phil’s heart, only recently healed by Clint’s reappearance, had felt like it had simultaneously leapt with delight and broken again at the same time (being around Clint, strangely enough, often ended up having that effect).

Anyway, that had been six years ago, and these days, Clint was a healthy, friendly, outgoing, kind person who had the kind of brightness of soul that made people want to be close to him without him even trying.

The main aspect of Clint that had remained constant was his friendship with Phil.

(And the way that he was still able to make Phil’s heart do all sorts of complicated leapy-shiny-breaky gymnastics, but that one was a secret.)

Phil was startled out of his reminiscing by an elbow in his ribs. Next to him, Clint was frowning slightly at him.

“You okay?” Clint asked, his hands automatically signing along with his words.

“Fine,” Phil signed back, grinning at his friend. “Just thinking.”

“About something awesome, I hope,” Clint said, winking.

“The best,” Phil replied.

***

That afternoon, Phil was walking home from school by himself. Clint was at archery practice, and the rest of their group of friends were off doing their own thing, too. Phil thought that he was walking completely alone, until he heard voices coming up behind him.

“Of course the trash would have done anything for me,” The voice was saying. Phil knew immediately that it belonged to Loki, an exchange student with a serious God-complex and a chip on his shoulder the size of Norway.

“I really believe that I could have asked him to _kill_ people and he would have, just to please me,” Loki’s smug voice continued. “Didn’t even realise he was just a blunt instrument that I was using until his red-haired bitch of a sister gave the game away and told him.”

With a cold feeling, Phil realised who Loki was talking about. Two semesters ago, when Loki had first turned up, he had almost bewitched Clint with his refined ways of talking and his seeming acceptance that someone with Clint’s background was still worthy of Loki’s attention. Clint had followed him around for a few weeks: doing his work for him; fetching and carrying; catering to his every whim; accepting being treated no better than a servant for Loki; until finally Natasha and Phil had taken matters into their own hands.

Natasha had sat Clint down and explained that, even when a person wasn’t being physically abusive, they could still be creating an unhealthy relationship. Phil had confronted Loki, and it had caused him to end up with a black eye and some bruised ribs, but he’d broken Loki’s nose and Clint had hated Loki with a passion ever since. Loki had neither forgotten nor forgiven, and it seemed to be his mission in life now to taunt and torment Clint, Phil, and Natasha as much as he could. Phil had no doubt that the words Loki was saying now were intended to incense Phil, but Phil was better than that.

“Trailer trash,” Loki scoffed. “Probably a faggot, too. If I’d wanted him too, he’d probably just have bent over and opened himself like the whore he no doubt is.”

Scratch that. Phil was _not_ better than that, and now he was angry, too. He whirled round before Loki could say anything else, and smashed his fist straight into Loki’s stomach. Loki was ready for him, and got in a good swing to Phil’s cheekbone before he bent over, wheezing. Phil followed up his advantage with a knee to the groin and a swift uppercut to the jaw. Loki fell like a stone, and the minion with whom he had been talking took one look at Phil’s livid face, and turned and ran.

Not trusting himself to even look at Loki again without causing some lasting damage, Phil simply said,

“Clint Barton is a better and worthier person than you could ever hope to be. Try and hurt him again, and I _will_ kill you.”

With that, Phil turned on his heel and stormed the rest of the way home, leaving the other boy whining on the ground.

***

By the time he slammed through his front door, Phil was still shaking with anger and his knuckles were bleeding sluggishly. Which was unfortunate, as his mother was dusting in the hallway and he didn’t have the chance to retreat to his room before she saw him.

“Hello, love, did you have a good day at…Philip James Coulson, what on _earth_ have you been doing?”

Phil squirmed at the use of his full name.

“Nothing to worry about, Mom,” he muttered not meeting her gaze.

“Nothing to—” his mother repeated incredulously. “Have you been fighting again, Philip? I swear, sometimes you are too like your father.”

Phil felt a hot surge of shame at that. He was _nothing_ like his father; General Coulson would never have feelings for another man like Phil had for Clint, wouldn’t feel like screaming and crying and fighting just because of cruel words said about Clint.

“It was Loki again,” he said shortly. “I won’t let him talk shit about my friends.”

It was a testament to how concerned his Mom already was that she didn’t reprove him for his language.

“Was it about Clint again?” his Mom asked. “Because you know I love him like another son, Phil, and I understand how close you two are, but I’m sure he would be the first to tell you not to put yourself in harm’s way on his—”

“Just drop it, Mom,” Phil said, feeling another wave of anger rise up in him. At Loki, at his mother, at the world, at _everything_. “You don’t understand _anything_ about Clint and me, you never have, and you never even _tried_ to.”

 “Phil!” his Mom replied, looking surprised and hurt. “You know I only want to know that you’re alright!”

“Don’t lie to me!” Phil roared. A small part of him watched on with incredulous horror at this outburst, but most of him was consumed with anger and fear and hurt, as if Loki’s punch had somehow dislodged years of Phil’s lies to himself and his family about how he felt about Clint, and had made them burst forth in a truly impressive explosion.

And there was no way Phil could stop now.

“You only _ever_ cared about what other people thought!” He shouted. “You _saw_ the way I felt about Clint, you _knew_ , and you just…you just pretended that nothing was happening when all the time, right in front of you, I was _breaking my heart_ trying to make you and Dad proud, and keeping Clint, and trying to stop loving him like I do, and I’m just…” Phil broke off, swallowing around the lump in his throat, and gathered his tattered and exposed emotions around himself. “I love Clint, Mom,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady. “I’m _in_ love with Clint, and I’ve tried, I swear, I’ve tried not to be, but I can’t. And I’m tired of pretending that I don’t, I’m tired of you pretending that you don’t already know, I’m just, I’m tired of it all.”

Phil looked up at his mother, hoping against hope to see something, anything, that would make him feel better about this whole clusterfuck.

His mother’s eyes were filled with tears.

Phil turned and ran out of the door without a backward glance.

***

[My tumblr ](heckamightygadzooks.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil has stormed off. Where will he go? What will he do? Tune in to this chapter to find out...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know why I divided this into two, BUT I DID and here is the second part. Still inspired by the spiffingness of twangcat, and made readable through the raw intelligence and talent of Ismene_Jane.

Phil shouldn’t have been surprised, not really, at where his stumbling and treacherous footsteps took him. He didn’t even realise where he was until he’d already rung the doorbell and Ms. Carter was opening the door. Phil suddenly realised that he was bloody and tearstained and this had been a really bad idea, but it was too late to leave.

“Uh, hello Ms. Carter, is, um, is Clint in?” he stammered.

“Not at the moment I’m afraid, he has archery practice,” Ms. Carter replied, seemingly unfazed by Phil’s appearance. “Please do come in and wait for him, he shouldn’t be much longer now, and I can take a look at those knuckles of yours while we’re waiting.”

“Oh really, no, it’s no problem, I can just,” Phil babbled as he was inexorably led inside and placed at the kitchen table while Clint’s mother put the kettle on for tea and went to fetch their (almost suspiciously well-stocked) first-aid kit.

After Phil had been supplied with a steaming mug of tea (Ms. Carter was English and insisted on English tea), a chocolate biscuit, (Ms. Carter also preferred the English term for “cookie”) and an ice pack for his cheek, Ms. Carter sat down opposite him, took one of his hands between her own, and started to dab at his bloodied knuckles with an antiseptic wipe. She was quiet as she worked, and Phil felt off-balance as a result. He’d been steeling himself for questions and recriminations, not this air of almost disinterested silence.

So naturally, after a few more seconds, Phil cracked and poured out the whole story, still feeling too raw to disguise his own emotions as much as he should have (although he had enough self-preservation instinct left to add in some prefaces of _I know it’s wrong, but_ and _I shouldn’t, but_ ).  Ms. Carter listened in silence as it all poured out, her face remaining passive as she concentrated on dabbing the blood from Phil’s knuckles.

Finally, Phil’s voice petered out and he swallowed his fear down, ready for Ms. Carter to shove his hand away, call him _wrong_ and _freak_ , and tell him to _stay the Hell away from my son_.

Surprisingly, none of that happened. Instead, Clint’s mother sighed, finished tying off the bandage around Phil’s knuckles, and then spoke.

“Phil,” she said. “I have known and loved Clint for almost six years now, and I have known for nearly as long that he was in love with you. Do you really think that I am the type of person who would judge and try to change who my child is? Especially when it’s always been so clear that you felt exactly the same way about him.”

“But,” Phil stuttered. “But don’t you think it’s wrong for two guys to love each other?”

Ms. Carter gave him a remarkably dry look.

“Philip Coulson, I have seen a lot of strange things in my lifetime, many of which were wrong. Either because they weren’t natural, or because they were cruel, or even just because they were the product of exceptionally poor decision-making,” she said. “What I have never encountered, in all my years on earth, is any indication that the _rightness_ of the love that one person feels for another is at all dependent on gender. I want what is best for Clint, and it has been self-evident for some years that part of that is you.”

“My parents—” Phil began.

“Your parents may take some time to get used to the idea, but they will come around,” Ms. Carter interrupted. “Once they see you and Clint together, they will understand.”

“But what if they never do?” Phil said, voicing his greatest fear (now that it seemed painfully, embarrassingly clear that Clint felt the same way about him). Ms. Carter paused for a moment, and then she replied, sincerity practically shining out of her.

“Then you will always have a family here with us, Phil,” she said. “No matter what happens, you will be loved.”

Ms. Carter looked as though she was going to say more, but stopped, and a moment later Phil heard the front door opening and closing and Clint’s dear, familiar off-tune whistling sounded, coming closer and closer.

“Time to tell Clint what you have told me,” Ms. Carter said. Then a glint alighted in her eyes and a dimple appeared in her cheeks. “Just make sure that whatever you do, you keep his bedroom door _open,_ do you hear me?” She winked and got up. “After all, I am still his mother. There are certain standards one has to keep up.”

***

** Ten Years Later **

“Nat, just tell me where we’re goooiiing,” Clint whined. He knew he was whining, he _knew_ that, but dammit, today was his wedding-day, and if a man can’t whine at his stupidly secretive adoptive older sister on his wedding day, then when could he?

The main cause of the whining was, of course, that Clint’s husband wasn’t there with them. Phil had given Clint a deep, hard kiss, and then disappeared, saying something about last-minute preparations for the reception (which was patently ridiculous, Phil was the most organised and competent person ever, and was only on cool nodding terms with the phrase _last minute_ ), and then Clint had been collared by a gushing and affectionate Mrs. Shell until Nat had saved him and dragged him off. Clint was, frankly, more than a little put out that the more hot-and-heavy, less solemn-occasion-appropriate make-out session that he had been planning to get Phil alone for hadn’t happened.  

A particularly sharp tug on his hand brought Clint out of his pining, and he realised with surprise that he recognised their destination.

What he couldn’t figure out was _why_ Natasha had decided to bring him to his old preschool.

 The lights were on in the entrance hall there as they went in, some flowers from the wedding decorating the room, and when he saw their mother  and his husband waiting for them, he began to get an inkling of what was going on, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Phil,” he said. “Phil, is this…”

“This is the place where you first agreed to marry me,” Phil said, those damn crinkles by his eyes, that Clint loved so much, deepening. “This was the place where we first tried to get married, I suppose, and I just thought…” he shuffled his feet, and Clint took a moment to appreciate how adorable his fia…his _husband_ was when he was unsure of himself. He took Phil’s hand in his own, their new rings clinking together, and Phil took in a deep, calming breath. “I just thought that, even though we’re legally married now, it might…it would feel… _right_ , somehow, to do something here, too.”

Clint blinked away the tears that had somehow ninja’d their way into his eyes, and nodded so hard he thought his head might fall off. Phil beamed at him, and gently wiped away the few tears that had been shaken free.

“Great!” he said, smile almost cracking his face in two. “You walk down the aisle then, with your Mom and Nat, and then stand and wait for me, and I’ll walk to you!”

In a happy daze, Clint did as he was told, and then turned to watch Phil, flanked by his own beaming parents, do the same thing.

When Phil reached Clint, he took Clint’s hands in his own ones, holding them tight and firm and safe.

 _Just like my heart_ , Clint thought, infected by all the sappiness around them.

“Clint Barton,” Phil said, his eyes shining and ecstatic and so, so sincere, “I want to marry you.”

“Phil Coulson,” Clint responded, remembering the words he had said so long ago, “I want to marry you, too.”

Without any further ado, Phil swept Clint into his arms, and dipped him down, whispering, “Yippee! Now we’re married!”

Phil bent his head to kiss Clint, and Clint’s whole body, his whole _being_ , was claimed in the kiss that followed. It was love and heat and everything best in the world, and oh _shit_ Clint was looking forward to their wedding night.

When they were both upright again, Clint looked at his and Phil’s family hugging and crying and laughing, and felt like his heart might explode from all the happiness. He snuggled tightly into Phil’s arms, and felt his husband brush a kiss against his hair, just as he had done a thousand times before, and could now do a hundred thousand times more.

Yippee, indeed.

***

[My tumblr](heckamightygadzooks.tumblr.com)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The marriage vows are lifted from twangcat, and sadly the characters are not mine. Any of the stupid things, though, they're 100% me. 
> 
> *gentle chanting* feedBACKfeedBACKfeedBACK
> 
> Prompt me! Or come hang out on tumblr! Or both! Or neither! Do what makes you happiest!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos give me life. 
> 
> Feel free to come and hang out on my tumblr (link above). I take prompts!


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